Boromir's Hair
by Briony
Summary: Eek! What is wrong with baby Boromir's hair?


I don't own anything or anyone of Tolkien's.

It was a fine day.

Yes.

Such a fine day, that the Steward of Gondor actually thought to request the company of his wife and son, for an afternoon stroll in the garden.

Sure, he had been a bit busy of late, and did not see them very often. It hadn't been too awfully long though, had it? Why baby Boromir was probably just learning to walk. He would have him made into a fine soldier before too long, he thought.

The Steward turned with a smile as he heard his Lady enter the garden. She was followed closely by..Gracious! Was that Boromir! Why he was almost four years old! He toddled easily behind his Mum, holding onto her long green skirt.

Why, he was a fine boy.

He was tall...

He was strong...

And he had...

He had...

"GREAT GODS! HIS HAIR!" the Steward exclaimed, stumbling backwards.

His wife glanced down. Her son's hair gleamed a golden red in the sunlight. She shrugged. " What of it my Lord?" she asked.

" What OF it?! It's the color of...of...bronze!" he said bronze with a sneer of disgust.

" Well, bronze is a nice color, " said his wife, mildly. " Even you like bronze."

" NOT on my son's head!" he said.

" Shall we have it taken off?" she asked, raising both brows at him.

"Don't speak to me in that fashion woman! And put down your brows. I want an explanation!"

" Of what?"

" Of why my son has bronze hair!"

She seemed too think on this for a moment, toeing a circle in the dirt as she pondered.

"Well? Have you figured it out yet? " he demanded after awhile.

" Yes." she said, with a nod.

" And...?

"It is a miracle." she said.

" A miracle! " he sputtered.

" Yes a miracle."

" Why do you think it might be a miracle?"

" Because the odds were against it happening. A miracle."

A miracle! A miracle! This is an outrage!"

"Why so?" she asked.

" Why so! Just look at him! Look at me! My hair is raven BLACK! "

" Aye, so it is. "

" How do you explain that?"

" Well, that is your hair. Your hair is black. And his hair is bronze."

He faltered a bit. " But my sons should have black hair. It isn't fair to have no son with black hair! "

" No it isn't fair. 'Tis a pity." she agreed, stepping closer and leaving the boy behind her, where he simply stood, sucking his thumb. ( Not caring for the world that his hair was not raven black!)

" It is a pity, that he has not your gorgeous raven hair..." said the Stewards lady, twirling one of the ebony locks in her fingers. " But perhaps it will change colors a bit, as he ages."

" Do you think so?"

" Oh, I think it might. As he becomes a handsome,... strong...brave...resplendent..., and dashing man. Like his father.

" Like his Father?" he mused.

" And grandfather before him." she assured.

" Handsome?" he asked, drawing himself up proudly. " Do you really think he has a handsome father?"

" Oh, without a doubt. " she answered honestly. " Handsome, and desirable."

The Steward smiled broadly, his anger soothed.

" Well! If he turns out to be as perfect as all that, there is nothing to worry over!" he said, beaming.

' No my Lord. Nothing to worry over. He will be perfect."

" Perfect?"

" Aye."

" And if we have another son?"

" He too will be handsome, noble, and brave." she said. " I promise."

" As handsome as I?"

" Like father..., like son. My Lord." and she kissed him.

" And he won't have bronze hair, when he's born?"

" No, he won't have bronze hair when he is born." she said.

" Well! Let us hope all of our children are as magnificent as their father!" he said jovially.

" At least." she murmured...and arm in arm, the three of them exited the garden.

Some days later...during the Stewards absence-

" Great Gods! Look at his hair!" exclaimed the stranger in the green cloak.

" What of it?" asked the Steward's wife, looking over at her sleeping son.

" It's the same color as mine!" he chuckled, un-hooding himself so that a mane of golden red hair could fall to his shoulder.

" Oh. Yes...it is very like." she shrugged.

" Fancy that.''

" Yes."

" What does his father say?"

" Hmmm..not much. He only just noticed."

" And he doesn't think it odd?"

" Perhaps a little."

The stranger grinned. " Well, it is a fine color though."

" Aye."

" And the child has good parents"

" Aye, so he has." she agreed.

" That's a good thing."

" Indeed."

" But...what if you were to have another?" he asked.

" Another child?"

" Yes, of course."

" Then it too would have good parents, and would be as perfect, noble and fine as it's father."

" Indeed?"

" Most definitely" she said.

And arm in arm, they exited the room.

Over a year later-

The Steward of Gondor gazed for the first time at the sleeping form of his second son.

" GREAT GODS!!" he exclaimed

" What?" asked the child's mother.

" His hair! It's BRONZE!"

" Bronze is still a nice color. " she said.

" But you promised he wouldn't have bronze hair when he was born!" he pouted.

She sighed.

" I did not lie, my Lord. He was born with no hair at all! "


End file.
